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“Our ancient bulldog,” Merry said. “George is like the biblical Noah, living three hundred and fifty years after the flood. Peter doesn’t stray too far away from him these days.”

“I like your toga,” Fanny said to Stella. “I wish I had a colored toga, Mama.”

“I should like to win the laurel wreath that your mother told me about,” Stella said, smiling at Fanny and Thomas. “What are the rules?”

“I should be very happy to explain them, Lady Stella. The gazebo at the base of the garden is the domus. I don’t suppose you—”

“The family home,” Stella said.

“Darling, Stella likely knows more Latin than all of us put together,” Merry told her oldest.

“No one can attack in the domus,” Fanny put in.

“The battlefield is open territory,” Thomas said, waving at the lawn. “Two blows from a sword means you’re dead. No one can attack without shouting an epitaph in Latin.”

“The most important rule is that although warfare involves violence, no one is allowed to hit very hard,” his mother added.

“Right,” Stella said. “Since I am unused to battle, I’m going to form an army. An exercitus.” She turned to Merry. “You can be my first conscript.”

“Is that fair?” Thomas asked dubiously.

“Omne pulchrum est in amore et bello,” Stella said.

“All is fair in love and war,” Thomas translated.

“I’ll be your brigadier!” Fanny cried, moving to stand beside Stella.

“That’s not fair!” Thomas objected.

“I’m no ordinary foot solider,” Merry said, ignoring her son’s complaint. “I’ll be your lieutenant general, Stella. The dowager, when she arrives—”

Which was when Her Grace arrived.

She wasn’t alone.

“Huzzah!” the dowager duchess called, marching across the lawn, her stout form wrapped in a toga.

Accompanied by Silvester.

He was wearing a toga too. It draped from his right shoulder down to his waist, leaving a good part of his heavily muscled chest open to the air. Not to mention a bare arm. His toga was as long as theirs, but it was made of light fabric that did nothing to disguise brawny thighs clad in tight silk breeches.

“Goodness me,” Merry muttered.

“He can be my lieutenant general!” Thomas exclaimed, running toward Silvester.

“I’d be happy to conscript the duke,” Merry said with a ripple of laughter. “If I wasn’t married, of course.”

Halfway across the lawn, Thomas stopped short before the dowager and her son, bowed, and then began chattering.

“Fanny, we’ll definitely need you to be our brigadier,” Stella said. “Thomas is stealing both new guests, unless I miss my guess.”

“Probably that man is going to win,” Fanny observed. “He has very long arms. Perhaps I’ll play with the kitten instead.”

“Never give up just because the enemy seems formidable,” Stella told her.

Merry shot a mischievous look at Stella. “I must say, I find myself far more interested in ancient Rome than I could have imagined.”

Silvester in the ballroom was one thing: he gleamed like the gold-plated aristocrat he was. But here? Wearing little more than a sheet, his burly chest undisguised? His nose seemed twice as bold and fierce.